Shades Of Grey
by Amber6
Summary: Jate fluff... a fire, a dance, and his blurred appearance through the flames


Shades Of Grey

25/10/5

The world's on fire… our world, our little world we made, cocooned and hidden from what we know is out there somewhere. It is burning all around us, and the flames are bright and fierce, alive. The sky is always so black here, so infinite and filled with possibilities of planes and space ships and long lost light years; but there is something magical about the raven sky, and those glorious dancing flames, those gashes of crimson and scarlet grazing the night. We have worked all day… toiled and sweated in the midday sun, that trickle of perspiration that ran down the side of your forehead; like a misplaced tear, and I caught it with my damp scrap of fabric, gently wiped your brow, briefly met your eyes. You have lugged wood all day, for what I wouldn't tell you, just wink and say it's a secret. I could see the fire in you long, long before the wood was all gathered and stacked. I could see it before we struck the match, that electric friction, that soaring burst of flame. I saw it months ago. All those months that have flowed away with the monsoon. All these endless days which pass us by without a second thought or a look back; since we crashed to earth, since I found you, since I stitched you up and fixed you.

You're mending me too, do you know? I watch you through the inferno; your figure through the heat, so each edge of you blurs and merges with those around you, the night, the laughter. You're mending me stitch by stitch. Oh, it'll be a long while before there's no holes and nowhere for the pain to leak from; maybe a lifetime, maybe two. Will you stay that long? Can I ask you to? There's so much of me that I can't reach to fix or repair, things so broken that lie too deep for me too see. I've buried too much and now I can't find it anymore… like a time capsule, come dig me up and read me, listen to me, hold me. Oh, you don't know… I wonder if I will ever tell you, how if I sink I want it to be into you, how when you smile it fills something long empty and hollow within me. I think you know, somehow. The awkwardness between us sometimes, like I'm waiting for you to say something beyond the facts and small talk. And often you don't, but just being here… you being you, being good and generous and so kind to me when you needn't be really; this is what is picking up the pieces and slotting me back together, a jigsaw that never ends. And I don't know if all the pieces are even here anymore.

The scene before me is happy, joyful. The fire burns, huge, bigger even than Sayid's never-ending signal fire. The wood collapses; sending out lumps of charcoal like shrapnel light. Shrapnel light in broken shards. Shannon's kneeling a safe distance away, lumps of boar and fish on sharp sticks beside her; she browns the meat like it is marshmallows, hands out each skewer while they are still hot. Vincent sits by her side, and Sayid observes her from a distance; and through the smiles and laughter, I can still see that ache in her irises, the stream of grief that runs through her. And sometimes it's just a trickle, peaceful; and then there are moments, when Locke returns alone with boar, when she sees that book he loved, or just when she wakes and remembers; he's gone. Moments when the flood gates open and the stream is an ocean, and there is nowhere to swim to, and he has disappeared under the waves. She strokes Vincent in the firelight and smiles sadly.

Hurley and Jin have their kebabs, sit on a log to my right. It's amazing, how for so long we thought we'd be rescued; yet now that log is smooth from use, and none of us are even looking to the ocean for lights or silhouettes on the horizon. I wonder how long we will be here for. Will we grow old here? Will Walt become a man, Aaron become a teenager? Will you seal me up with stitches of trust, and shared memories and growing closeness? Will I ever tell you all about Tom, about how much I loved him, about how much I think I could love you too…

Claire and Charlie are the first. The first to get up. She leads him to an unmarked spot, and you can see the little bits of awkwardness within him, underpinning his excitement and enthusiasm and genuine love for life. She is so confident, and he is learning, learning to like himself again. She leads him through new doors and shows him the other side; but he shows her too, how wonderful a mother she is, how she should believe in herself a little more too. She turns to him; he does a cheesy little bow and offers his hand, and then they dance like the flames, dance on the sand before the tide. And watching them, I can hear the music in my head, the melody and each note as they glide and stumble and giggle and dance. They could be in Paris, or New York, or anywhere, honeymooners or lovers or having just met. He could be wearing a badly pressed tuxedo, an undone bowtie; she a ball gown, full and glittering and delicate. They dance and it is like watching a movie; the fire and the velvet sky, the silver moon, their bare feet meeting each step in the sand and sending particles like atoms into the air.

I am caught up in watching them, in imagining them in unimaginable places. I haven't noticed you wander over to me, stand to my side, offer you my hand. You clear your throat, snap me from my reverie. You are silhouetted in the firelight, tall and dark. I can see the roughness of your extended hand. The growing shaggy appearance of your hair, more casual, I like it. Something like nervousness in your eyes, and this surprises me.

"May I have this dance?" Your voice is deep, deliberately half joking. You smile at me. You are beautiful.

"But of course, good sir." I grin back. I am barefoot, wearing a white singlet and knee length black skirt that flows around me; the first time I have worn a skirt on the island, worn specially for this night. My hair cascades down my back and I have a frangipani tucked in behind my ear. You take my extended hand, and I take in your bare feet, black slacks, white shirt which is somehow still white, even looks vaguely pressed. It hangs over our trousers, the top two buttons open. The sleeves are rolled up to your elbows. I sink into the vision of you. I think how we are each black and white. How I've killed and you've saved. But how I've now brought life into this world as well, the tiny bundle of screaming skin and tuft of hair, Claire's son; and how all black and white is really just shades of grey.

We join the others on the 'dance floor'; Charlie and Claire, Sun and Jin, Walt standing on his Dad's feet as Michael attempts to sway to the music. Your hand falls to my waist, gentle but firm, and I place mine upon your shoulder. Our free hands meet, and you are so warm, like coming home. We move closer, closer than friends dance together. We hear the same tune in our minds… and as if we have practised, our feet move in and out and round together, not a wrong step or misplaced foot. You dance like you work; fluent and precise but flowing, like you don't really need to think about what you're doing. The rhythm is inbuilt within you.

"I like you in a skirt." You whisper, like it's a secret. "It suits you…"

I blush, smile, look up and down again. "Yeah, all we now is a bowtie for you and I've got my very own James Bond."

"Huh." You grin.

"Well you've already got the tropical island, the ocean, the girl…" I catch myself, but too late. Our eyes meet, like it's for the very first time. I can feel the vulnerability between us. The little pieces of me, falling into place as you hold me and stare into me, like you're searching for my soul.

"I already got the girl?" Your hand grips mine ever so slightly tighter. Or did I imagine it? I want to kiss you. Kiss you, but still be able to erase the moment if you don't kiss me too.

My body is disobeying my brain. I nod. I open my mouth. Words come out, but they aren't the joke I had in my mind. They're my heart.

"The girl's right here if you'll have her."

There's a pause, which lasts a lifetime. "And what makes you think she'd have me?" I wonder if we're still dancing. My mind is too full of this and you and all the things I though I'd never say. I can't think about moving, too.

"Because… you make her feel safe. And happy. And… like she's worth something, like she's trustworthy even. You taught her how to smile and laugh again. You're helping her to mend herself." The words tumble out of me. IOh god./I

I can see your mind trying to process all this. You open your mouth, once, twice, three times. You look into my eyes and it's all I can do to not just fall into your arms, or run away, or sink into the ground.

"I am? I do?" You eventually manage. I nod. And now it's me who's caught your eyes, who won't let them go.

"And I was kinda wondering if you were okay with that."

You nod. At first I don't see it, but then your heads is going back and forth like a pendulum and that smile, that smile that melts me every time, takes over your face like it'll never leave.

"That's okay, Kate. That's… that's really okay."

"Okay."

There is silence for a second, silence where we stand and savour this moment we both know will never happen again. The second where we know each other's vulnerability and hearts on display, before we take that next step, before you move in closer and I can smell you and taste you. I reach up, take a strand of your hair, run my hand through it. I can feel the salt that clings to you.

We're still dancing, but not moving. The dancing is all in our hearts and minds, now. Your hand cups the edge of my chin, tilts my head gently up. The fire catches in my eyes, but they are already burning so bright with this new reality. You lower your face to mine; the stubble on your chin which brushes my cheek, those healing hands… my eyes close, I dissolve in the moment, suspended. Your lips graze mine, so soft; I run my hand from your hair, down your rough cheek, coming to rest on your chest. I step closer. The kiss goes deeper, you tongue probing at my mouth, coming in and exploring me. Your smell is intoxicating; burnt wood and papaya and the remnants of some aftershave from somewhere. I catch your bottom lip in my teeth, just grip it gently, drawing out this first kiss, our only first kiss. And then we are apart but still so together, both exhale as if holding our breath for all these months, waiting for this. You press your forehead to mine. I can see your smile, matching mine. Our hands fall to our sides and naturally, subconsciously, fall to each other.

There are the predictable whoops and cheers from the other dancers and those seated, their smiles filling the evening. We grin, ecstatic, embarrassed. My hands grip yours and there is so much I want to say, want to tell you, want to ask you. We have forever, to fit each piece of each other into place. And so I say just one.

"Happy Birthday Jack." I grin at you, run my thumb over your lips, memorising you.

"Thanks Katie." You say it without thinking; but I like it, the sound of it in your voice, and I say nothing; just close my eyes and drink in the moment, the fire, the stars, the sky…. You. Us.

The End


End file.
